


I’ve Become Unstuck in Time

by capsicleonyourleft



Series: Presidential Kid [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capsicleonyourleft/pseuds/capsicleonyourleft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is the son of newly-inaugurated President Michael Milton. A senior in high-school, he’s resigned himself to being gawked at but otherwise disregarded by his peers. After all, who’d be brazen enough to befriend—much less woo—the President’s son?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’ve Become Unstuck in Time

 

Castiel likes to think he is not a selfish person—not self _less_ , certainly, but he has always been considerate of the needs and desires of others. Yet, as he watches the two Secret Service agents stationed outside of his classroom, a bratty part in him can’t help but wonder why his dad had to win the election and become President of these United States. Castiel and his siblings have had security detail since his father became the official democratic nominee and his popularity soared, so he’s had time to adjust to the loss of privacy; even so, he had not been prepared for the increased security that accompanied his father’s inauguration.

It’s his first week in his new school, and to say the experience has been discombobulating is an understatement. In his old high-school, Castiel had always been relatively inconspicuous; he’d had his small group of friends, steered clear of trouble and focused on his studies. Naturally, his classmates began to take interest when his father announced his candidacy, and even more so when it became clear he’d be the nominee, but they quickly lost interest when confronted with Castiel’s bashful and reticent nature. Gabriel had been a senior at the time, and he’d been more than happy to field most of the attention, never shying away from the opportunity to boast and tell ludicrous (and largely untrue) stories.

His brother is away for college, and though Castiel would never admit it—not like Gabriel needs the ego boost, after all—he misses him terribly. He wishes his schedule hadn’t been so different than Anna’s; as it were, Castiel and his twin sister have always had opposing interests, and the only class they share this semester is biology. There is nothing for Castiel to do but face the hordes of photographers that line up to take his picture every morning and ignore the stares of his classmates as best he can.

 

 

 

Castiel is sitting at the cafeteria, agents close by, when his phone vibrates in his jeans pocket. Annoyed, he puts down his copy of _Slaughterhouse Five_ to retrieve it. There are only so many texts he can endure from his father asking if things are going alright before he explodes. To his surprise, the message he pulls up is from Gabriel.

 _This presidential gig is the best thing dad has ever done for my sex life,_ it reads. _I’ve never gotten so much tail in my life, bro!_

Castiel snorts, his mood brightening considerably. He can picture his brother telling elaborate (and surely inaccurate) antics from the campaign trail to whoever’s willing to listen, milking his fame for all it’s worth. He can’t imagine going on a date with Secret Service agents tagging along, much less copulating when they're standing outside of the door. Then again, Gabriel has always had an exhibitionist streak.

As he’s typing his reply, Castiel is jarred when a backpack lands on his table, narrowly missing knocking over his lunch tray.

“I’m never going to get a date in this school,” his sister huffs as she plops down in the seat opposite him.

“Gabriel seems to be having the opposite problem,” he relays.

Anna rolls her eyes and pouts. “I _so_ didn’t need to know that, Cas.”

Cas shrugs. “I see no reason you should be spared the mental scarring our brother chooses to inflict upon me.”

“Whatever,” she concludes, clearly too frustrated to keep up with their usual banter. “I’m serious, Cas. Everyone stares at me like I have three heads, but no-one fucking _says_ anything. Fucking great way to spend my last semester, let me tell you.”

“Anna, they’re just intimidated,” he reasons. Cas thinks he’d be intimidated, too; being tailed by Service agents doesn’t project the most welcoming image, after all. “I’m sure that once the novelty wears off, they’ll realize we’re just like everyone else.” He's not convinced that last part is right, but he can't bear the sour expression on his sister's face. Castiel has always been content with solitude, but his twin's nature is much more gregarious.

Anna sighs, but seems to consider this. “What about you? Aren’t—” she’s cut off by the phone buzzing on the table between them. She grabs for it and starts typing ferociously. “This is like the fifth time dad texted me to make sure there were no problems with school. Doesn’t he have anything better to do? I mean, he’s the goddamn President!”

Castiel shrugs. Their father is nothing if not diligent.

 

 

 

Convincing his father to enroll them in public school had not been a small feat. Castiel and Anna would have been much more inconspicuous in a prestigious private school; surrounded by the sons and daughters of millionaires and rockstars, they would have had the luxury of relative anonymity—heck, they probably wouldn’t have been the only ones with security. Still, Castiel had gone to public school his entire life, and he was intent on keeping his life as ordinary as possible. Their family might have moved into the White House and become a household name, but that doesn’t mean Castiel has to sacrifice his values. It was his father that taught him that the easiest path is not necessarily the best one to take. That adage, coupled with the fact that Castiel so rarely asks for anything, was the grounding force in getting his father to acquiesce his request. He may have insisted on this school, but he is beyond thankful there are only six months until graduation.

His last class for the day is English, which happens to be his favourite subject. In an attempt to draw less attention to himself, Castiel slips to the back row, burying his nose in his book. When the other students begin to trickle into the classroom, Castiel can feel their eyes on him. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably, but keeps reading even as he becomes cognizant of the soft murmurs around him. The chair to his left emits a squeak, signaling the seat next to him has been occupied.

“That’s one of Vonnegut’s finest,” says a deep voice, and Castiel looks up to meet green eyes staring right at him. The guy is absolutely gorgeous: spiked light-brown hair, a curved nose with a smattering of freckles, and a pair of pouty, full lips. The collar of his leather jacket is upturned, meeting the bolt of his lightly-stubbled jaw. Castiel looks around to see who he’s talking to, because it can’t be him. No-one’s spoken a word to him all week. “Your book,” he clarifies with that low timbre, gesturing to the battered paperback in Castiel’s hands.

“Oh!” Castiel exclaims once it’s clear that the guy is, in fact, talking to _him_. “I... I must confess I’m not familiar with many of Vonnegut’s works,” he admits, hoping the blush heating his cheeks isn’t obvious. “But I’m enjoying this one.”

The guy nods, shifting in his seat to better face Castiel. “You’re Castiel, right?” he asks, and Castiel is grateful he doesn’t mention his surname or his father’s position. It makes him feel important, like there’s relevance to him beyond his father’s job title. “I’m Dean Winchester,” he says, extending a hand for Castiel to shake. The skin of his palm is pleasantly warm, and Castiel is tempted to leave his hand in Dean’s grasp for longer than is appropriate.

Castiel finishes _Slaughterhouse Five_ that same evening, and can’t wait to tell Dean all about it.

 

 

 

On Monday, Castiel is fifteen minutes early to his English class, watching the students piling through the door. Dean arrives five minutes later, bleary-eyed with a pillow crease on his right cheek. Castiel wants desperately to run his fingers along the fold of skin.

“Vonnegut’s ideas on the progression of time present a curious curl in the metaphysics,” he blurts as Dean takes his seat. “Though, I found the idea of predestination to be the most striking theme of the novel.”

Dean gives him a small, amused smile before nodding. Castiel finds he likes the sight very much. “Yeah. Kind of a miserable way of looking at things though, if you ask me.”

Castiel tilts his head, intrigued. “You disagree with the idea?”

Dean shrugs. “I gotta believe that I can choose what I do with my unimportant little life.” He bends down to rummage through his backpack. “Anyway. I thought you might like the book, so I brought you this,” he says, handing Castiel a copy of _Breakfast of Champions_. “Just... take good care of it, okay? My dad gave it to me.”

“I promise, Dean,” he assures immediately. He turns the book over in his hands, inspecting it. The pages are yellow with age, cracks evident in the spine, the cover slightly wrinkled. It’s worn-out but well-loved, alight with character. Castiel holds it to his chest protectively. “Thank you.”

 

 

 

Their next English class, Castiel is waiting for Dean with the book clutched between his hands. He’d stayed up late the past three nights reading, sneaking in a few pages at a time between homework assignments, unable to put it down. When Dean arrives, he takes note of the look on Castiel’s face and grins before dropping unceremoniously into his seat.

“I take it you liked that one, too, huh?”

Castiel nods fervently. “Hoover’s descent into insanity was fascinating to read,” he enthuses. “It does make one wonder, though, if freedom is nothing but a length of rope to hang oneself with.”

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean says, and Castiel’s heart swells at the moniker. “That’s kinda morbid for a seventeen-year-old, don’t you think?”

Castiel shrugs and hands the book back to Dean. “Thank you for lending it to me, Dean. I thoroughly enjoyed it.” Dean is the first person in the school to make an effort to get to know him—perhaps, even, to build a friendship. A simple thank you doesn't communicate all that he wants to say, not really, but Castiel doesn’t know how to convey his gratitude. His people skills are rusty at best.

Dean tucks the book into his backpack. “Yeah, don’t mention it.” Dean diverts his eyes and chews on his bottom lip, and Castiel uses the opportunity to stare openly at the mouth that fascinates him. “Hey, listen, do you maybe wanna—”

Whatever Dean was about to say is cut off when Ms. Blake’s voice booms across the classroom. “Good morning, everyone! I hope you’ve done your reading for today, because we’re starting the day with a pop quiz!” There’s a collective sigh from the class, and Castiel doesn’t get the chance to speak to Dean for the rest of the class.

 

 

 

One bite of the cold, tasteless pizza is conclusive enough for Castiel to regret picking it over the runny mashed potatoes. Another bite confirms that it does, in fact, taste like cardboard, and is just as hard to chew. He’s in the process of deciding whether he’s hungry enough to eat the rest when a familiar voice speaks.

“Mind if I sit here?” Dean asks, pointing at the vacant spot across from Castiel. Uriel and Raphael inch closer to their table, alert in case Dean turns out to be a threat, but Castiel motions to the agents to let them know it’s alright.

“Not at all,” he tells Dean, gesturing for him to sit. Dean places his tray on the table with a clunk.

“Went for the pizza, huh?” he observes, shaking his head. His own tray holds a generous serving of fries, an apple and a Coke. “Rookie mistake. I made the same one on my first day. You’d think no-one could screw up pizza that bad, but...”

“Yes, that was my initial line of thinking, but I appear to have miscalculated,” Castiel says with a scowl. Dean laughs, and the sound elicits a warm and unfamiliar sensation in his chest.

“Here,” Dean pushes his tray toward the centre of table, making it easy for Castiel to reach. “We can share. Wouldn’t want you to lose your teeth on that piece of plastic.”

Castiel stares at the crunchy, perfectly baked French fries in front of him. “That’s very kind of you to offer. Thank you, Dean.”

“Don’t sweat it, Cas. It’s just fries,” Dean responds, but Castiel doesn’t miss the slight blush across the bridge of his nose. He decides he quite likes the way it makes his freckles stand out.

“Cas?” Anna’s voice pipes out from his left. He looks over to see his sister biting on the inside of her cheek, holding her own lunch tray and looking uncertain. “Am I interrupting?”

“No!” Castiel says immediately, making room for her to sit next to him. “Dean, this is my sister Anna. You don’t mind if she joins us, do you? We usually have lunch together.”

“No, not at all,” Dean reassures, tossing a smile Anna’s way. “Uh, if—I can leave, if you guys—”

Castiel is about to protest when Anna speaks up. “No, please. It’s good to have some human interaction in this damn school.”

 

 

 

“So, you and Dean, huh?” Anna comments once they’re piled up in the SUV and being driven home, her tone sweet and curious.

“Dean and I are friends,” Castiel says and looks out the window.

“Right,” Anna snorts. “That’s why you were nearly drooling watching him go down on those fries.”

Castiel feels himself blush, but doesn’t gratify his sister with a response. It’s not his fault Dean is capable of making even the most mundane of activities seem pornographic.

“That was my first clue,” she continues cheerily. “The way your cheeks are burning red right now definitely cements my theory.”

With two siblings whose primary expressions of affection consist almost exclusively of jibes, Castiel has learned the hard way to keep his cool. The less he engages them, the quicker they get bored and give up.

Anna huffs once she realizes she’s not going to get a rise out of him.

“He was watching you too, you know.”

 

 

 

“Hey, this is your last class for the day, right?” Dean asks on Thursday as they wait for Ms. Blake to arrive. He grins when Castiel responds with an affirmative, bearing a perfectly straight line of pearly whites. It makes Castiel run his tongue over his own slightly-crooked bottom teeth, suddenly self-conscious. “Great! It’s mine, too. We should do something after.”

“Do something?” Castiel inquires, puzzled. “Like what?”

“Just hang out,” Dean shrugs. “There’s this cafe not far from here that has this _amazing_ apple pie...”

Castiel chews on his bottom lip, contemplative. He hasn’t really been out anywhere since his father got elected; going anywhere means that the Secret Service has to follow, and Castiel’s not too keen of the idea. He understand that it’s a safety procedure, knows that the agents are merely performing their duty; he has no desire to be the bratty kid that makes their life miserable by constantly trying to lose them. Spending most of his free time at home seemed like the most logical solution.

“I, um,” he starts, hating how inarticulate he seems to turn in Dean’s presence. “I can’t really go anywhere without...” he tilts his chin in the direction of the door, where the agents can be seen standing guard.

Dean nods like he’d been expecting that response. “I kinda figured,” he shrugs. “I don’t mind. I mean, it’s not like they’re gonna be breathing down our necks, right? They’re just there to protect you. So, what do you say?”

 

They sit down in the corner of the cafe, with the agents a few tables down—close enough to have a clear view of Castiel, but removed enough to give them some semblance of privacy.

The cafe is brightly-lit, with wooden floors and suede armchairs in the corners. The walls are adorned with the work of local artists—quirky photographs and paintings that are fascinating upon second glance. Despite the cozy atmosphere, Castiel can’t stop fidgeting. He’s not sure what this is, exactly—Dean called it a “hang-out,” but that is obscure at best and doesn’t help him decipher the situation. In all likelihood, it’s just two friends spending time together—he supposes that’s what they are now: friends. He tries to quench the part of him that isn’t satisfied with that title.

Things get easier after the first thirty minutes. They’re able to surmount the initial awkwardness when Castiel asks Dean about his family. He learns that Dean’s father is a police officer, and that he has a younger brother named Sam. Dean becomes animated when he talks about him, his chest puffing out with pride and mouth turned up in a smile. He claims that Cas and Sam would become friends in an instant, because they’re both “nerds who spend all of their free time browsing online encyclopaedias." The implication makes Castiel feel warm, and he thinks he would very much like to meet Sam.

Dean buys a generous slice of apple pie, while Castiel happily nibbles on a banana nut muffin and sips on peppermint tea.

“Cas, man, you gotta get the pie,” Dean says around a mouthful of pastry.

Castiel shakes his head, the corners of his mouth quirking up at the enthusiastic sounds Dean is emitting. He takes a bite out of his muffin to cover it up.

“Well, you at least gotta try some,” Dean insists, digging into the pasty and holding out the fork in Castiel’s direction.

Castiel decides that this might be his only chance to find out what this is, to see if there’s more to this thing between them. Dean has taken a chance on him when he first talked to him in class, when he offered up his books, when he asked him on this outing. It’s time Castiel return the favour and take a chance of his own.

Wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans and taking a deep breath, he leans forward in his seat. He encircles Dean’s wrist with his fingers, holding him in place, and wraps his lips around the fork. Dean’s eyes widen in surprise, and Castiel would find his expression comical if he weren’t so nervous. Castiel pulls back to chew on the sweet treat, watching Dean’s eyes flicker down to his lips. When Castiel wipes the remnants from his lips with his tongue, Dean moans.

“Dean,” Castiel says, temporarily emboldened by Dean’s reaction and the heated look on his face. “Is this a date?”

Dean clears his throat. “Do you want it to be?”

“Yes,” Castiel admits without hesitation. “I would very much like it if this were a date.”

“Then it’s a date,” Dean announces, his smile lopsided and jovial. Castiel feels a mirroring one spreading on his face. “And since this is a date, there’s something we should do,” he whispers conspiringly, his tone mischievous as he leans closer, their faces only an inch away. Castiel picks up the notes of his spicy perfume: cinnamon and clove and everything warm.

“And what’s that?” Castiel asks, licking his dry lips in anticipation.

Dean closes the remaining distance between them, attaching his mouth to Castiel’s. His lips are warm and pillowy and better than Cas could’ve ever imagined. Dean’s tongue licks the seam of his lips, and Cas opens up immediately, bringing his hand to cradle the back of Dean’s neck, fingertips brushing the short hair they find.

Castiel’s first kiss happens in the middle of a crowded cafe, in plain sight of Secret Service agents, and it’s absolutely perfect.


End file.
